Companion
by halbarath
Summary: Severus reflects on the two women who had shaped his life: Lily and Hermione. This one-shot actually takes place between chapter 35 and 36 of my story Miserere but it could be read alone.


Disclaimer : Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling. I'm just playing with the world and characters she created.

A/N : This takes place between the chapters 35 and 36 (during the Final Battle, after Nagini attacked Severus Snape) in my story Miserere.

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 **Companion**

"Fuck!" he swore as he blinked into awareness of his surroundings. He looked around, not quite believing his sight, his eyes roaming around, taking it in, all his senses alert. Yes, he recognized it all. It felt right, even smelled right. The stone was exactly as it had always been, cool, hard and smoother than it looked. He frowned deeply in confusion and disbelief. It was exactly as he remembered it but for the absence of sound.

"Fuck," he repeated and the word travelled all around the place, where his eyes couldn't see and his legs wouldn't take him, shattering the odd quiet and stillness. "Why am I here?" But no one answered. He was all alone in the cold, unforgiving grey of the castle he had once, long ago, called home. He swivelled around, wondering where to go and what to do. He knew every crook and corner of the school and what was waiting for him at the end of each corridor. He knew it as clearly as the fact that he was dead. Well, in case of doubt, always report. He looked up forlornly and his feet dragged him to the gargoyle that watched him make his way slowly but steadily up to it. It revealed the staircase without so much as a creak. He pushed the door open, tense and stiff, mentally steeling his resolve but couldn't seem to be able to. He had been doing it for two decades and was mildly surprised to find his abilities rather down. He came in, still reluctant to break the silence to find, both to his dismay and relief, an empty office. "Damn." He looked around and noticed the portraits had all been vacated. Odd. "That wasn't where I'm supposed to be," he reflected as he walked back down again.

Facing the different corridors again and weighing his options, he decided to check his quarters even when his instinct told him there would be nothing and no one there. The dark corridor was uninviting —which wasn't surprising in itself, and his steps echoed loudly in the abandoned school. His usually warm rooms were cold and dead and even the rows of books failed to provide any sort of comfort whatsoever. He turned on his heels without so much as a second glance and went back to his starting place.

He was getting frustrated, the unusual situation grating on his nerves. He hated being in such positions, where he had only his wits to get out alive and if possible useful. But wait — he was dead, wasn't he? There were no such things as survival here. The very concept was ludicrous. And yet, here he stood, trying to make out the why and how of his predicament. He really attracted shit like a magnet, didn't he? He looked around to guess where he should go next. The staff room would be deserted — there had never been anything worth happening over there, just dull, uninteresting, boring meetings about organization and student management. No, he wouldn't go up there. He peeked into the Great Hall, noticing the empty tables — just as he had assumed. He was all alone. Like always. His lip curled into a sneer. How appropriate that his death would be as solitary as he had spent his life. He huffed. It wasn't like anyone ever cared. The fleer accentuated into a grimace. And yet. His eyes strained pensively, drawn subconsciously towards the only place that had brought him a modicum of joy, of safety, of acceptance. His feet took him obligingly up the stairs and his face relaxed as memories of soft hands and a melodious voice soothed him. But once on the landing, where the corridors split apart towards either Ravenclaw or Gryffindor, he hesitated. This way was Lily. That way was Hermione — his, not Potter's. He was about to go to Flitwick's tower before suddenly changing his mind to march towards Gryffindor. At least, Hermione wasn't dead — as far as he knew anyway.

Disappointment stung acutely when he found the portrait vacated and the door closed. He wasn't to see Lily either then. He had harboured the hope that he would at least be able to apologize to her in death. He had spent his life trying to make up for his sins and mistakes, protecting her son to honour her memory, trying to undo some of the wrongs for which he was responsible, struggling to rise above his untrustworthy nature. For her. For her to allow him to apologize. For her to be somehow proud of him. All for naught. Maybe his motivations hadn't been good enough. Maybe he would stay here, in this deserted, silent, abandoned limbo that felt more like Hell. Maybe that was his punishment for not having done his part because it was the right thing to do but for a selfish, personal reason — Lily's forgiveness and absolution. He suddenly wished for Hermione's presence. She had chosen to stay with him despite his many faults. He had always been able to be himself with her — from witty, to brooding to downward cruel and she had still remained faithfully at his side. Through hell and back, she had been there. She had raged against him and never been shy to say her mind. She had despised him when he had taken the Mark, had hated this part of him— still did as he died in truth and he had always known it. But she had stayed and his respect and affection for her had increased exponentially. Lily had been his beacon in the dark, his lighthouse. Hermione had become his anchor, steady and sure. Always knowing the right from the wrong but never, never disdainful with him. Never scornful. And never had she pitied him, for which he would be eternally grateful. She had known everything and still remained loyal to him because she genuinely liked him. A first. Scratch that. Not a first — the one and only. He would go to her Tower. Gryffindor wasn't hers in his mind. This was the lair of Potter and his friends, father or son alike and Hermione Granger wasn't the woman at his side. His was called Barnett and she was a Ravenclaw. Too cunning, too ruthless, too clever for a Gryffindor.

This place seemed to reveal every censored feelings and thoughts, he remarked drily. He would never have admitted as much otherwise, not even to himself. But Ravenclaw was the same as Gryffindor. He sighed, defeated. Back at square one. What was the point of it all? The only place he hadn't checked was the outside and he had a sickening feeling — he had never liked it much there. And even though he was no coward, he dared not go there. He sat down heavily, drawing some small comfort from the cold, hard feel of the stones under him. This much was the same at least. He never thought he would miss the sounds of Hogwarts — the thumping of hundreds rushing feet, the sole of their shoes clapping on the flagstones, the laughter and murmurs of the pupils, the shuffling of robes and the soft thud of bags, the creaking of the stairs and the whispering voice of the castle itself. But he did. It was raw and primitive and he felt it deep in his bones. He missed the life of the castle and mourned the silence he had always loudly clamoured for. He repressed another sigh. Most uncharacteristic of him. He was no coward, he decided and getting up he marched towards the entrance doors. In two swift strides and a flurry of following robes, he was out. In the sun —interesting that. He had expected a grey sky, low and menacing. Ominous. Not a blue sky and warm sunshine. He soaked it up, face slightly upturned. He knew where he should go and now that his mind was made up, he realized he had always known but postponed it. On he went, towards the lake until he reached the tree that held so many memories, some good, most bad. He had avoided it like plague while he had been teaching and each time he had been forced to go there, unsuspecting pupils had born and suffered the brunt of his displeasure and shame. His pace slowed until they stopped altogether. Lo and behold — she stood there draped in a haze of sunshine and looking utterly beautiful.

"Lily," he breathed. And she smiled. She smiled at him. She hadn't done so in so long he had forgotten how it felt. He had missed her.

"Ah, Severus," she said as she held out her hand in an universal welcome. "I've been waiting for you."

"You have?" he repeated stupidly. "Whatever for?" he enquired, blinking.

"You have an important choice to make."

"Have I now?" She frowned slightly at the sarcasm dripping from his words. "I wouldn't know what to do with it." Her frown deepened but she offered neither contradiction nor consolation. Instead, she came closer and took his hand in hers. Suddenly, the setting changed and they found themselves under a big tree near the small, grey playground of their childhood. "Lily?" he wondered.

"Hogwarts wasn't very conducive to conversation. I hope you'll find yourself more at ease here."

"I wouldn't know where to begin," he said honestly, getting up and turning his back to her while she sat down on the grass.

"Wherever you feel comfortable would be good for me."

They lapsed into silence as he tried to think of something — anything really to say, but nothing was forthcoming.

"Do you remember when we were kids?" she asked as she looked on, reminiscing their time as children, knees drawn up and encircled by her arms. "It was peaceful when we were together then. What happened to us, Severus?"

"We grew up," he very nearly spat but couldn't quite find the resentment strong enough to imbue his words much. "You made other friends."

"So did you."

"Did I?" He turned and held her gaze. "I never noticed."

"The Slytherins. And you had Avery, Mulciber and the likes." A grimace of disgust crossed her lips. "Malfoy." She said angrily. "Any Death-Eater in and out of Hogwarts. Take your pick."

"Oh Lily!" he sighed, shaking his head and dropping rather unceremoniously beside her. "They were never friends. They weren't even allies. You've always been the only one." He stopped and seemed to struggle momentarily. "And you abandoned me," he confessed quietly before his eyes widened in horror. He had spent his life — literally his entire life— trying to make amends so that he could one day be worthy of talking to her again. He should be grovelling at her feet in abject shame and indomitable disgrace, begging her forgiveness on his bended knees, eternally grateful for even the opportunity to be there with her and instead he was throwing blame at her. He couldn't believe his own ears. How could his mouth profess such ignominies without consulting his mind? How could he exert so little control over his speech? He clamped his hands shut on his lips in a childish display of censor — like a kid who perceived too late that he's been impolite. "I'm sorry! Lily, I'm sorry!" he rushed to say, taking her hand in his to convey his embarrassment and apology. "I shouldn't have — you've never — I apologize!" he rambled.

But she smiled.

"Yes, I understand now that I did. And the price you paid — that we all paid because of it."

"You — what?" He blinked.

"Haven't you noticed this place strips you of any deception? You can't lie here."

"I've never been at my most eloquent with you," he murmured. Merlin, he was doing it again. Couldn't he watch his words? Eyes downcast, he awaited her rejection.

"That's not true and you know it. Now, stop behaving like you're always at fault, Severus. We're dead."

"But I wish to apologize. I know it doesn't cut it in the least but I want you to know I've never wanted anything more than to tell you how sorry I am."

"And what are you apologizing for exactly?" she wondered.

"I'm sorry for insulting you."

"You were forgiven long ago."

"I was?"

"Of course you were. You're well aware it wasn't the real reason why we broke ties."

"Wasn't it?" He really felt like a moron. He had prided himself on being quick on the uptake, able to discern sarcasm, hidden meanings, double-entendre. His very life had depended on it. And yet, it seemed he could only answer her by monosyllables — and not the most thrilling either.

"No. I told you then as I did years later and as I'm going to tell you again, I couldn't condone your association with Death-Eaters in the making. I saw no reason to maintain a friendship that only remained by name. And you were scaring me." He had always dreaded her judgment— he knew by experience it was unlikely it would be kind. She didn't disappoint. And it hurt. Merlin, did it hurt.

"I saw no other choice at the time, Lily, at least none that would have benefited me in any way or form. It was join them or shrivel and die. It is not like your side ever gave me an opportunity — not even a good reason to join," he said to defend himself. "I could never have joined alongside Black and Potter, whether I would have wanted to or not. They would never have let me anyway."

"There's that," she admitted. "And yet, nobody coerced you into actually joining Voldemort. You chose to do so all by yourself."

They lapsed back into silence. What could he have said anyway? She was right. He had joined of his own free will — despite Lily and Hermione's abhorrence, in a naive, egotistic will to get more power and some recognition, some feeling of worth. And friends. And the girl he loved. Good grief, he hated this place that made him be honest with himself.

"I'm so sorry, you know. I never wanted you to be hurt — and you were killed because of me."

"Yes." He looked stricken but took the blame in stride silently. "But you're not the one who sold us out. And you protected my boy when I couldn't. I could never thank you enough."

"But I _**failed**_ ," he insisted. A cloud of dark anger crossed his harsh features. "Albus — he told me too late. I just bought your son enough time to be sacrificed on the altar of the greater good," he spat. "He is supposed to die. And yet, I would have given my life to protect him if I could have." Her smile was tight and wan. A slight shudder rippled under her skin and she fleetingly closed her eyes.

"My little boy. He has grown so much, hasn't he Severus?" she asked and he couldn't deny her this.

"Yes. He has." Her eyes were moist.

"I'm aware of his circumstances. And like you, he has a choice to make."

"Do you mean he has died too? Fucking hell!" he swore and got up suddenly. She stood unmoving while he paced restlessly. "Why are you here?" he finally asked. "You should be with your son." He tried — Merlin knew he tried to keep the envy and jealously and slight contempt from colouring his voice but this thrice damn place wouldn't let him. A small frown of reproach crossed her face briefly.

"I wasn't meant to guide him. Here, you meet the one you're most likely to hear out before making your decision. He could never turn to me for advice. But you used to, once. We used to be close and share dreams. And since we're on the topic, I wish for one, that you would stop punishing my son for a crime he hasn't committed." He ducked his head in shame.

"I apologize Lily. I —" Oh, he wanted to tell her something nice, wanted to explain his behaviour, to justify everything but he couldn't. Harry Bloody Potter had looked exactly as his father and he could never forgive Harry for this crime, nor for the jealousy or the fear that had threatened to swallow him whole each and every time he had thought about the boy or even looked at him. He had been reckless and endangered everything and everyone. He had been arrogant and defiant. He had been lazy and skived off homework. He had always counted on his friends to cover for him and on others to tidy up the mess he left. He had been prejudiced and a show-off who had taken everything for granted, allowed to roam the castle unhindered, given undeserved privileges. Bloody Potter had been given all on a silver platter because he had been the Boy-Who-Lived. And as sure as all this had been detrimental to their already poor relationship, his worst offense wasn't this. Oh no. He couldn't stand Harry Potter because he was the reason Lily had died. If she hadn't had the boy or at least not then, she might not have died. The Prophecy wouldn't have referred to her. And she might have survived the First War. Harry Potter. James Potter's clone but for the eyes of his mother. Eyes flashing with distrust, anger and hate. He could never bear to relive Lily's rejection. "I'm sorry. I could never appreciate your son, Lily. He was too much like his father, in his looks and his attitude."

"I understand. But it doesn't mean I have to be happy about it. You took an immediate dislike of him, before you even met him. And he didn't deserve it." He remained silent, not used to being the one scolded. "You are so alike the two of you," she said. He gasped aloud in outrage, intent on setting this to rights but she cut him short with a raised hand. "You are," she insisted. "Did you know he had been abused at home, before Hogwarts? Raised in the belief he was a freak? A nobody? A worthless burden? He had nothing much — my sister saw to it. You remember Petunia, don't you? His clothes were handed down from his overly large cousin and he was never given a present. It was Hermione who repaired his glasses on his first trip to Hogwarts. He had spent all his first years dodging bullying — he wasn't very good at it either. A scrawny little boy, black hair, with unfitting clothes and trying to look inconspicuous. Does that ring a bell, Severus?" He looked away. "He saw Hogwarts as a refuge, a safe haven. Someplace he could be himself." He snorted.

"Good luck with that. Harry Potter was a celebrity and the talk of the year. Every single year," he enunciated clearly. She chuckled and the tension eased.

"Just like you, he wanted to prove himself. Did you know he had looked forwards to Potions? That he had been genuinely interested and that he had really been taking notes of your every word during your first class?" He looked away again without answering. "He would have dabbled at the Dark Arts too if not for his friends. And he had almost been sorted into Slytherin," she smirked.

"Good grief, no!" he exclaimed, eyes wide with shock and outrage.

"His sentiment exactly."

"I think you've made your point," he answered, waving her words off with his right hand. "I'm quite sure any similarities end here."

"Barely. There's also the anger management problem and hero-complex that you share. I could continue."

"No, thank you. And I do not have a hero complex," he sneered.

"Oh my, you could have fooled me." She let him have his peace. They would have time to tease each other good-humorously when he moved on. "Are you ready to take your decision now?" He looked blandly at her.

"What decision is there to make, Lily?"

"Oh, I thought you had realized. You have been gifted with a rare opportunity. You can choose to go back or to move on."

"Move on?" he wondered. "You mean this is not death?" She giggled.

"You're quite dead — for now. But this is not the afterlife. No," she added when he opened his mouth "I cannot tell you how and what it is. It is indescribable."

"Will you be there?"

"Of course I will. So will James and Albus. And your mother. And a lot of others."

"Oh," he said, deflated. "Well, I'll move on anyway. I don't have any reason to go back. That wasn't really a choice, was it?"

"Do you really think so?" He only blinked in answer. "Oh, I understand now why you need a guide."

"You're talking utter rubbish Lily. Do you have to be as abstruse as Albus?" She smiled, an elvish all-knowing little grin.

"Let's talk about Hermione then."

"Hermione?" he stiffened, clearly on the defensive. "What about her?"

"How is she?"

"Alive as far as I know. Which is more than many others," he answered tentatively.

"She had a good influence on you. I'm glad she had stayed by your side." He nodded, uncertain. "Very astute and perceptive, isn't she?" He nodded assent. "She told me, once, long ago, that one day I would be proud of you again. She was right."

"I — thank you, Lily. It matters more than you could imagine."

"Oh, Severus!" she exclaimed, in high spirits. "I was so glad to see you become again the boy I had cherished, the friend I had lost. I must say I had been worried sometimes — especially with the way you treated my boy." He ducked his head in shame. "But I know now that she had been right all along."

"Hermione is," he paused, struggled for words, "a know-it-all," he finally decided upon before a small grin graced his lips. "Don't ever tell her she had been right. You wouldn't hear the end of it."

"She is special. And not only because of her Travels."

"Oh, you know about that too?"

"I can see whatever happens and whenever it happened. Only the future is clouded and foggy. Come closer, I want to show you something."

The setting changed again and they found themselves near the canal that run far behind their childhood houses. It was as dark and disgusting as he remembered, enticing for dead rats only. But she didn't seem to care and hovered her hands above the waters until they swirled and he watched in wonder as they cleared. A few colours blended in it, then a few outlines — too distorted to be recognized. As the water purified, images seemed to be more defined, more familiar. He knew this place — where was it? And then the image was distinct. This was the Shrieking Shack and that was Hermione. What was she doing? The look on her face was daunting —a combination of raw fear and intense concentration.

"What is she doing?" he wondered aloud, convinced Lily would know.

"She's trying to save you," she answered deadly serious.

"This is not funny, Lily." She had the gall to giggle.

"Oh, Severus, you cannot be that oblivious, can you?"

"Speak plainly, for Merlin's sake. I am not a telepath."

"The girl's been in love with you for decades!"

"I know she has — feelings for me. She admitted as much."

"Feelings?" She laughed openly. "You're deluded. I'm amazed you can't see love when it's right in your face."

"She was in love with Ronald Weasley. And he died. There's not much love left after this." She blinked.

"This is the stupidest thing you've ever said. And you've said a lot."

"I resent this." He shuttered. She sighed.

"Alright." Time to change tactics. "Tell me Severus, if you could be granted anything, what would be your wish?" He turned away from her and clasped his hands in his back but remained silent. "Severus?" she prompted.

"There is no need to dwell on impossibilities."

"There is a point to this, you know."

"Surely you know? You seem to be privy to everything around here," he snapped.

"You need to tell me." He only blinked in answer, face blank and unreadable. No smile graced his lips.

"Consider this, then. I want to hear it from you," she cajoled. But he refused to budge on the matter and remained impassively tight-lipped. She refrained from sighing. "As you wish," she declared. She got up and carefully put a comforting hand on his back. "Please. Look at me."

He didn't want to. She would only mellow him and get her way. He had no wish to confess or to make a fool of himself. As long as he turned his back to her, he could stay tense, back stiff and straight, hands clasp in his back to keep everything hidden — feelings, tremors even accusation. And yet, the only time he had refused her a request had caused his downfall. He wanted to sneer and snarl and snap at her but he refrained. No, he wouldn't in death make the same mistake he had in life. He willed his body to relax minutely, repressed a sigh and turned to meet her eyes. And the most unexpected happened. He had expected her to look at him with that soft, slightly sad little smile, her words soothing and yet terribly hard to bear. Instead, her lips met his. Whatever possessed her to kiss him was beyond his comprehension but he wasn't complaining. She was soft and warm and sweet-smelling, exactly as he had imagined, so many years ago. When she finally broke the kiss, she looked at him with a shrewd gleam shining bright in her eyes. Not mean but mischievous.

"You have wondered, haven't you?" She looked at him, a small grin gracing her lips. "Now, let's be honest a second. Was it the fireworks you expected?"

He didn't answer — there was no need as it was all rhetoric. Had she kissed him to make a point? Most obviously. Was he angry at her because of it? He searched his feelings for a few seconds. No, he wasn't. He was glad she had allowed him a kiss — he had never expected such a gift as he knew she would never be his. It appeased his soul. At least, he knew what she tasted and felt like. What's more, he was a Slytherin and this would always be the prism through which he sees the world. It had been a trick worth any snake in his den. No, there was no need to be angry at Lily.

"Or maybe it somehow felt slightly _wrong_?" she added suddenly in a whisper.

Her words — they circled in the deepest, most secrets depths of his subconscious. And they nagged because of the truthfulness behind them. Kissing Lily had been wonderful because it was a dream come true. But there hadn't been _fireworks_ as she had dubbed them. Not for her — she was married after all, and not for him either he realized with a jolt. He clenched his fists, jerked away from within her grasp and turned his back to her again. Suddenly, he was angry. Had all his life been a sham? Even the most precious, the best part of him?

"Just because you've only just come to understand your feelings for Hermione, doesn't necessarily invalidate the love you had for me. It doesn't diminish it, Severus. On the contrary. I've always loved you — not as you had wished once. I had never been able to return the same kind of love as yours. But she has. And it changed you — from the obsessive, scaring youngster you were in seventh year into the man you are now. And Merlin, how glad I am to stand next to you now to tell you how proud you should be. Pride for what you've done — your tireless, selfless efforts to end Tom Riddle, to redeem yourself, to protect my son. Pride for what you've gained — friendship, my respect and gratitude, your salvation, Hermione's love. I died seventeen years ago. It is healthy that you moved on. You have been so preoccupied by the war, so many times at your wits end, so close to death so often, is it any surprise that you didn't realize your motives had changed? I know you had wondered. Let me tell you your motivations matters not that much in the end. You did what was right — for me at the beginning. For you in the course of the years. For Hermione also in the end. Because you do more than care for her."

"Spare me the sappy emetic melodrama. You sound like a Hufflepuff," he snarled.

"You're impossible!" she answered back in clipped tones. "I'll come back when you'll be ready to talk and be sensible."

"Lily, don't go!" he exclaimed as he whirled around only to face empty air. She was already gone. "Fuck!" he swore again. What was it with this woman that always made him want to scream his voice raw? How did she manage to get under his skin like that, dissecting him before leaving a bloody mess for him to clean and stitch back? He closed his eyes in a vain effort to calm down. When he opened them again, he was back at Hogwarts.

Rage was dispelled almost as soon as it welled up. More than angry, he was discombobulated. To realize his love for Lily had changed over the decades was hard to take in. She had moulded his life from his childhood to his death. Everything he had done had been done in relation to her — how to befriend her, how to impress her, how to keep her, how to get her back, how to redeem himself in her eyes. Once she died, his whole world had come crashing down. He had erred and wandered aimlessly, his only tethers to life Hermione and his guilt. All subsequent action had been weighed against "what would Lily have thought about this?" or "what would Lily have wished?" He had spied for her, risked life and limbs, protected her child whom he absolutely despised. Everything for her. And he effectively managed to lay his life down for her only to be told it had all been a terrible lie and misunderstanding. There was something so ironic he couldn't help but laugh, the edges of it bordering on hysteria. To learn his love had withered and died within his heart while it was the only thing that kept him on. The only good thing, the only unsullied emotion he ever felt, the purest part of him had disappeared without his knowing. And what was left of him? A shell with a memory of innocence? How could he feel love for her when her kiss screamed wrong? How could he reconcile his heart with his physical reaction to Lily's presence? His feet took him away by their own volition. Tumultuous thoughts needing to be purged, his pace increased as he strode across the Hogwarts grounds.

Salazar be damned but Lily had been right. He cared more for Hermione than he had dared to admit. She had always come second to Lily — or at least they had both considered it that way. But confronted with the evidence, he couldn't in all honesty deny it. He had spent twenty years fantasizing about kissing Lily. And now that it had happened he could say that as wonderful as it had been, it had felt like cheating. Damn her for always being right. And what to make of it now? If Hermione really meant that much, since she had taken such a huge place in his life, shouldn't she know? But he had died and she was alive. Shouldn't he let go of her? He had clung to Lily — and it had brought him no joy whatsoever. Only pain and indomitable guilt. He shouldn't make the same mistake twice. Hermione would move on. What good would come out of letting her know he had loved her? Merlin, had he really thought that? Did he love her?

What he wouldn't give for a firewhiskey. He would gladly drown his troubles in alcohol until he couldn't think clearly for days on end. Not that he had ever been able to nor had even the inclination to. He could hardly afford to be mentally instable in life. No, he had never drunk anything more than a glass of wine a few times a year. His father had effectively managed to get him off alcoholic beverages. Just thinking about him had been incentive enough. If only he could avoid his problems. He had thought death would be peaceful. It certainly wasn't. And now he was faced with an understanding he knew not what to make of. He stopped suddenly and lifted his eyes to contemplate Albus grave. Ah. So his own body had traitorously brought him here. He was damned. Fate must be in stitches. Whatever his previous Karma, his current one wasn't necessarily better. At this rate, it would be several rebirths before anything good came out of him.

He couldn't repress the urge to lightly touch the cool white marble. Albus had been a mentor and a tormentor both. But he had no wish to see him die and even less to kill him. It had broken his heart to do so and broken his soul to understand Albus didn't think better of him. To ask that much out of him — it had been worse than anything the Dark Lord had ever demanded. That this man, whom he trusted with his deepest secrets would think so little of his soul, of his redemption, of his feelings, of his needs that he would expect him to murder him. And in front of witnesses. Was he not worth saving too? His hands fisted briefly. Draco was but a boy who hadn't had much choice either. Sure he had come from a richer, higher place in society than he had been but his hand had been dealt with before his birth. He hoped the boy had survived. He hoped Draco wouldn't throw away the gift he had bestowed him. He had paid it with his life after all.

"Oh, Albus," he whispered. "What have you done to me?" He looked around and found peace in the soft rustling of the leaves, in the gentle sound of the lake, in the serenity of the place. His thoughts turned back to Hermione again. She would have liked it here. "By all that's Magic, Albus, I've fallen in love with Hermione," he confessed quietly. "Isn't that the most ironic of all? The only woman able to outshine Lily and it's her son's fucking best friend. Just thinking it is utter madness. And I had to understand this once I'm dead. Someone in the higher powers really has it in for me."

"Are you quite done feeling sorry for yourself?" A voice interrupted his musings.

"Oh, hi again, Lily. I wasn't sure you'd be back."

"Well as enlightening as our entire conversation has been, you won't be able to remain here indefinitely."

"Do I have to choose now?"

"Soon enough." His face fell.

"I really don't know." She smiled tightly and held out her hand for the second time that day.

"Come walk with me. I'll help you choose." They wandered around the lake, comfortable in the silence surrounding them. It felt like old times, the same companionship he had always craved from Lily's presence. And yet, it was tamer, softer, more manageable, fairer. "I'm so glad we can do this again," she began. "Just walking together without being uncomfortable. I've missed you Severus, as my close friend and confidante."

"I've missed you too." He mulled over his next words and knew that as hard as they were, he needed to say them out loud. "Thank you for allowing me to apologize. And for your forgiveness."

"You balanced it out in the end. It's your own hard work that earned you this right and I'm very glad for it. Now, listen carefully because we don't have much time left. If you decide to move on, you'll get unlimited time to set things straight with anyone who is already dead. You'll join all of us in the afterlife where you'll be free of the responsibilities of life. You'll find peace and contentment. You could choose to be reborn too. Another time, another place, another life. "

"I wouldn't be adverse to the idea of peace, to be truthful. I've longed for it all my life. No burdens, no responsibilities, no one to answer to. A good book, a fire, good conversation and strong spiced black tea. I could get used to it." She giggled.

"Yes, I can picture it. But there are a good many people who are waiting for you quite anxiously. It's not going to be that peaceful at first." He scowled. "Or you can choose to go back."

"And what's waiting there? To what world would I be going back?"

"Hopefully, a better world than the one you left. Come see," she said as she conjured a window out of nowhere. "This is what is happening right now. Look," she pointed out. "That's my boy there!"

"He made it then?"

"Shh!" she hushed him. "This is the best part!" And she endeavoured to let him witness the whole Final Battle, sound and sight. "Now, be proud of my boy," she gloated. He growled an assent, eliciting a soft laugh from her. "Still can't admit you've been wrong, can you? It's okay. I know you'll be able to eventually. Now your choice stands thus: you move on with me or you come back to a world where you will be free," she paused for dramatics, "and loved."

"I don't have anything to offer her. She would move on."

"She wouldn't. She gave up everything for you — her first life, as depressing as it had become wasn't a great loss but she knew that if she succeeded in changing the future, she would sacrifice her relationships. Her parents — lost to her forever. Her best friend and brother by love, my own son, who would have to survive her disappearance. Her first love — if she succeeded and he survived, she would still have to go back in time and lose him again. And those were the closest to her. I don't even mention those she befriended over the years. She chose to do so, Severus, yes, but don't think it had been easy for her."

"She's tough. She's a survivor. She would make it again."

"Ah but the problem is, she never made any friend again. Do you remember her, when she arrived in our Time? She had pushed everyone away. I know better now than the mere arrogance I had thought then. Tell me. Who are her friends? Who does she turn to when she needs comfort? With whom does she relax? Invite home? Go on holidays with? Get stupid with, laugh with?" She looked for his scowl —for she knew it would arrive with the sudden realization of the extent of her sacrifices. "She would move on? I don't think so Severus."

"I never knew."

"And you chose not to discuss the matter either. You have unfinished business together. And really, is the prospect of spending the rest of your life with her not tempting?"

"The rest of our life could be an awfully long time."

"Are you afraid you'll grow tired of her or the other way round? Because I've watched you both for two decades now and believe me, you're not about to fall apart anytime soon. You're thick as thieves you two. And very compatible. She's seen the worst of you and she's still there, isn't she? Don't you think she at least deserves to know how you feel about her?"

"Will I see you again if I go back?"

"Not until your time to join us is upon you. But I'll watch you and I'll visit sometimes, when the Veil is thin and your mind is open. I will never be far, I promise. And this time, we will part as friends."

"I see." He muttered and stopped walking. He sat down and pulled her down with him. He had finally made his mind and felt peace settle upon his mind. It would be better from now on, he just knew it. "Lily," he called her attention again. "I've always loved you," he confessed with a small smile.

"I know," she whispered back.

"I'm glad I could speak with you," he continued as he laid down on the lush, sunny grass.

"Me too, Severus. Me too," she said softly as he closed his eyes. "Until we meet again, my friend."

 **The end**

* * *

A/N : I hope you liked it. I certainly took pleasure in writing it. Thank you for reading.


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